I switched on the computer, covering my hand with a Kleenex—I thought it would be impossible to explain away rubber gloves if someone came in on me. The system came up and asked for a password. Baladine’s ship number was what Robbie thought his father would use. When that didn’t let me in I tried the name of the ship. Bingo. To get into Carnifice files I needed another password. I tried the ship ID again, but the machine preferred his service dates.

I called up the home–security system and set the hall camera to appear in a split screen of the computer. That would give me a little advance warning if Baladine was coming. I checked the doors on the far side of the room. One led to a closet, another to a bathroom, and a third to the far hallway.

I logged on to the e–mail server and called up the list of clients. Five of my own former clients had little stars by their names; Darraugh Graham had a question mark. I had memorized what I wanted to say and typed quickly, nervously proofreading and correcting my text. Did I want to send to the entire recipient list? I did.

Next I typed in my own media list and composed another message. When I’d e–mailed my media list I breathed more easily. I deleted all the messages, both from the out–box and from the trash file, so that Baladine wouldn’t know from looking at his mailbox that someone had been using the server. Even if he found me now, I’d done enough to cause him some discomfort.

Just as a precaution I copied his home–security file onto a floppy, copied his client list onto another floppy, then, while I was still logged on to his network, started looking through his in–box for any messages that might be about me.

The searches had taken too much time. I was sweating, wondering if I’d better pack up and go, when I saw Baladine and Alex Fisher appear on the hall camera. I turned off the machine, grabbed my floppies, and dived into the closet at the back of the room. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought the closet door must surely vibrate in rhythm with it.

The two came into the room, talking in such low tones all I could make out was the murmur of their voices. Sweat began soaking my shirtsleeves as I imagined a telltale floppy or tissue alerting them to an intruder.